“If anyone but yourself had brought me such an incredible story, Head, I should have thought him mad,” he said, at last. “Of course, one knows that from time to time a great master in crime arises and sets justice at defiance; but that this woman should be the leader of a deliberately organized crusade against the laws of England is almost past my belief. Granted it is so, however, what do you wish me to do?”
“Give me your help,” I answered; “use your ingenuity, employ your keenest agents, the most trusted and experienced officers of the law, to watch this woman day and night, and bring her and her accomplices to justice. I am a rich man, and I am prepared to devote both my life and my money to this great cause. When we have obtained sufficient evidence,” I continued, “let us lay our information before the authorities.”
He looked at me thoughtfully; after a moment he spoke.
“What occurred in Naples has doubtless given the Brotherhood a considerable shock,” he said, “and if Mme. Koluchy is as clever as you suppose her to be, she will remain quiet for the present. Your best plan, therefore, is to do nothing, and allow me to watch. She suspects you, she does not suspect me.”
“That is certainly the case,” I answered.
“Take a sea voyage, or do something to restore your equilibrium, Head; you look overexcited.”
“So would you be if you knew the woman, and if you had just gone through my terrible experiences.”
“Granted, but do not let this get on your nerves. Rest assured that I won’t leave a stone unturned to convict the woman, and that when the right moment comes I will apply to you.”
I had to be satisfied with this reply, and soon afterwards I left Dufrayer. I spent a winter of anxiety, during which time I heard nothing of Mme. Koluchy. Once again my suspicions were slumbering, and my attention was turned to that science which was at once the delight and solace of my life, when, in the May of the following year, I received a note from Dufrayer. It ran as follows:—
“MY DEAR HEAD,—I have received an invitation both for you and myself to dine and sleep next Friday at Sir John Winton’s place at Epsom. You are, of course, aware that his horse, Ajax, is the favourite for the Derby. Don’t on any account refuse this invitation—throw over all other engagements for the sake of it. There is more in this than meets the eye.
“Yours sincerely.
“COLIN DUFRAYER.”
I wired back to Dufrayer to accept the invitation, and on the following Friday went down to Epsom in time for dinner. Dufrayer had arrived earlier in the day, and I had not yet had an opportunity of seeing him alone. When I entered the drawing-room before dinner I found myself one of a large party. My host came forward to receive me. I happened to have met Sir John several times at his club in town, and he now signified his pleasure at seeing me in his house. A moment afterwards he introduced me to a bright-eyed girl of about nineteen years of age. Her name was Alison Carr. She had very dark eyes and hair, a transparent complexion and a manner full of vivacity and intelligence. I noticed, however, an anxious expression about her lips, and also that now and then, when engaged in the most animated conversation, she lost herself in a reverie of a somewhat painful nature. She would wake from these fits of inattention with an obvious start and a heightened colour. I found she was to be my companion at dinner, and soon discovered that hers was an interesting, indeed, delightful, personality. She knew the world and could talk well. Our conversation presently drifted to the great subject of the hour, Sir John Winton’s colt, Ajax.
“He is a beauty,” cried the girl. “I love him for himself, as who would not who had ever seen him?—but if he wins the Derby, why, then, my gratitude—” She paused and clasped her hands, then drew herself up, colouring.
“Are you very much interested in the result of the race?” I could not help asking.
“All my future turns on it,” she said, dropping her voice to a low whisper. “I think,” she continued, “Mr. Dufrayer intends to confide in you. I know something about you, Mr. Head, for Mr. Dufrayer has told me. I am so glad to meet you. I cannot say any more now, but my position is one of great anxiety.”
Her words somewhat surprised me, but I could not question her further at that moment. Later on, however, when we returned to the drawing-room, I approached her side. She looked up eagerly when she saw me.
“I have been all over Europe this summer,” she said gaily; “don’t you want to see some of my photographs?”
She motioned me to a seat near her side, and taking up a book opened it. We bent over the photographs; she turned the pages, talking eagerly. Suddenly, she put her hand to her brow, and her face turned deadly pale.
“What is the matter?” I asked.
She did not speak for a moment, but I noticed that the moisture stood on her forehead. Presently she gave a sigh of relief.
“It has passed,” she said. “Yes, I suffer in my head an indescribable agony, but it does not last now more than a moment or two. At one time the pain used to stay for nearly an hour, and I was almost crazy at the end. I have had these sharp sort of neuralgic pains from a child, but since I have consulted Mme. Koluchy—”
I started. She looked up at me and nodded.
“Of course you have heard of her,” she said; “who has not? She is quite the most wonderful, delightful woman in existence. She, indeed, is a doctor to have confidence in. I understand that the men of the profession are mad with jealousy, and small wonder, her cures are so marvellous. Yes, Mr. Head, I went to quite half a dozen of our greatest doctors, and they could do nothing for me; but since I have been to Mme. Koluchy the pain comes but seldom, and when it does arise from any cause it quickly subsides. I have much to thank her for. Have you ever seen her?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“And don’t you like her?” continued the girl eagerly. “Is she not beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the world? Perhaps you have consulted her for your health; she has a great many men patients.”
I made no reply; Miss Carr continued to speak with great animation.
“It is not only her beauty which impresses one,” she said, “it is also her power—she draws you out of yourself completely. When I am away from her I must confess I am restless—it is as though she hypnotized me, and yet she has never done so. I long to go back to her even when—” She hesitated and trembled. Someone came up, and commonplace subjects of conversation resumed their sway.
That evening late I joined Dufrayer in the smoking-room. We found ourselves alone, and I began to speak at once.
“You asked me to come here for a purpose,” I said. “Miss Carr, the girl whom I took in to dinner, further told me that you had something to communicate. What is the matter?”
“Sit down, Head; I have much to tell you.”
“By the way,” I continued, as I sank into the nearest chair, “do you know that Miss Carr is under the influence of Mme. Koluchy?”
“I know it, and before I go any further, tell me what you think of her.”
“She is a handsome girl,” I replied, “and I should say a good one, but she seems to have trouble. She hinted at such, and in any case I observed it in her face and manner.”
“You are right, she is suffering from a very considerable anxiety. I will explain all that to you presently. Now, please, give your best attention to the following details. It is about a month ago that I first received a visit from Frank Calthorpe, Sir John Winton’s nephew, and the junior partner of Bruce, Nicholson, & Calthorpe, the great stockjobbers in Garrick Gardens. I did some legal business for his firm some years ago, but the matter on which Calthorpe came to see me was not one connected with his business, but of a purely private character.”
“Am I to hear what it is?”
“You are, and the first piece of information I mean to impart to you is the following. Frank Calthorpe is engaged to Miss Carr.”
“Indee
d!”
“The engagement is of three months’ date.”
“When are they to be married?”
“That altogether depends on whether Sir John Winton’s favourite, Ajax, wins the Derby or not.”
“What do you mean?”
“To explain, I must tell you something of Miss Carr’s early history.” I sat back in my chair and prepared to listen. Dufrayer spoke slowly.
“About a year ago,” he began, “Alison Carr lost her father. She was then eighteen years of age, and still at school. Her mother died when she was five years old. The father was a West Indian merchant, and had made his money slowly and with care. When he died he left a hundred thousand pounds behind him and an extraordinary will. The girl whom you met tonight was his only child. Henry Carr, Alison’s father, had a brother, Felix Carr, a clergyman. In his will Henry made his brother Alison’s sole guardian, and also his own residuary legatee. The interest of the hundred thousand pounds was to be devoted altogether to the girl’s benefit, but the capital was only to come into her possession on certain conditions. She was to live with her uncle, and receive the interest of the money as long as she remained single. After the death of the uncle she was still, provided she was unmarried, to receive the interest during her lifetime. At her death the property was to go to Felix Carr’s eldest son, or, in case he was dead, to his children. Provided, however, Alison married according to the conditions of the will, the whole of the hundred thousand pounds was to be settled on her and her children. The conditions were as follows:
“The man who married Alison was to settle a similar sum of one hundred thousand upon her and her children, and he was also to add the name of Carr to his own. Failing the fulfilment of these two conditions, Alison, if she married, was to lose the interest and capital of her father’s fortune, the whole going to Felix Carr for his life, and after him to his eldest son. On this point the girl’s father seems to have had a crank—he was often heard to say that he did not intend to amass gold in order to provide luxuries for a stranger.
“ ‘Let the man who marries Alison put pound to pound,’ he would cry; ‘that’s fair enough, otherwise the money goes to my brother.’
“Since her father’s death, Alison has had one or two proposals from elderly men of great wealth, but she naturally would not consider them. When she became engaged, however, to Calthorpe, he had every hope that he would be able to fulfil the strange conditions of the will and meet her fortune with an equal sum on his own account. The engagement is now of three months’ date, and here comes the extraordinary part of the story. Calthorpe, like most of his kind, is a speculator, and has large dealings both in stocks and shares and on the turf. He is a keen sportsman.
“Now, pray, listen. Hitherto he has always been remarkable for his luck, which has been, of course, as much due to his own common sense as anything else; but since his engagement to Miss Carr his financial ventures have been so persistently disastrous, and his losses so heavy, that he is practically now on the verge of ruin. Several most remarkable and unaccountable things have happened recently, and it is now almost certain that some one with great resources has been using his influence against him. You will naturally say that the person whose object it would be to do so is Alison’s uncle, but beyond the vaguest suspicion, there is not the slightest evidence against him. He has been interested in the engagement from the first, and preparations have even been made for the wedding. It is true that Alison does not like him, and resents very much the clause in the will which compels her to live with him; but as far as we can tell, he has always been systematically kind to her, and takes the deepest interest in Calthorpe’s affairs. Day by day, however, these affairs grow worse and worse.
“About a fortnight ago, Calthorpe actually discovered that shares were being held against him on which he was paying enormous differences, and had finally to buy them back at tremendous loss. The business was done through a broker, but the identity of his client is a mystery. We now come to his present position, which is a most crucial one. Next Wednesday is the Derby Day, and Calthorpe hopes to retrieve his losses by a big coup, as he has backed Ajax at an average price of five to two in order to win one hundred thousand on the horse alone. He has been quietly getting his money on during the last two months through a lot of different commission agents. If he secures this big haul he will be in a position to marry Alison, and his difficulties will be at an end. If, on the other hand, the horse is beaten, Calthorpe is ruined.”
“What are the chances for the horse?” I asked.
“As far as I can tell, they are splendid. He is a magnificent creature, a bay colt with black points, and comes of a splendid stock. His grandsire was Colonel Gillingham’s Trumpeter, who was the champion of his year, winning the Derby, the Two Thousand Guineas, and St. Leger. There is not a three-year-old with such a fashionable ancestry as Ajax, and Sir John Winton is confident that he will follow their glorious record.”
“Have you any reason to suspect Mme. Koluchy in this matter?” I asked.
“None. Without doubt Calthorpe possesses an enemy, but who that enemy is remains to be discovered. His natural enemy would be Felix Carr, but to all appearance the man has not moved a finger against him. Felix is well off, too, on his own account, and it is scarcely fair to suspect him of the wish to deliberately ruin his niece’s prospects and her happiness. On the other hand, such a series of disasters would not happen to Calthorpe without a cause, and we have got to face that fact. Mme. Koluchy would, of course, be capable of doing the business, but we cannot find that Felix Carr even knows her.”
“His niece does,” I cried. “She consults her—she is under her care.”
“I know that, and have followed up the clue very carefully,” said Dufrayer. “Of course, the fact that Alison visits her two or three times a week, and in all probability confides in her fully, makes it all-important to watch her carefully. That fact, with the history which you have unfolded of Mme. Koluchy, makes it essential that we should take her into our calculations, but up to the present there is not a breath of suspicion against her. All turns on the Derby. If Ajax wins, whoever the person is who is Calthorpe’s secret enemy, will have his foul purpose defeated.”
Early the following morning, Sir John Winton took Dufrayer and myself to the training stables. Miss Carr accompanied us. The colt was brought out for inspection, and I had seldom seen a more magnificent animal. He was, as Dufrayer had described him, a bright bay, with black points. His broad forehead, brilliant eyes, black muzzle, and expanded nostrils proclaimed the Arab in his blood, while the long, light body, with the elongated limbs, were essentially adapted for the maximum development of speed. As the spirited creature curveted and pranced before us, our admiration could scarcely be kept in bounds. Miss Carr in particular was almost feverishly excited. She went up to the horse and patted him on his forehead. I heard her murmur something low into his ear. The creature turned his large and beautiful eye upon her as if he understood; he further responded to the girl’s caress by pushing his nose forward for her to stroke.
“I have no doubt whatever of the result,” said Sir John Winton, as he walked round and round the animal, examining his points and emphasizing his perfections. “If Ajax does not win the Derby, I shall never believe in a horse again.” He then spoke in a low tone to the trainer, who nodded; the horse was led back to his stables, and we returned to the house.
As we crossed the Downs I found myself by Miss Carr’s side.
“Yes,” she exclaimed, looking up at me, her eyes sparkling, “Ajax is safe to win. Has Mr. Dufrayer confided in you, Mr. Head?”
“He has,” I answered.
“Do you understand my great anxiety?”
“I do, but I think you may rest assured. If I am any judge of a horse, the favourite is sure to win the race.”
“I wish Frank could hear you,” she cried; “he is terribly nervous. He has had such a queer su
ccession of misfortunes. Of course, I would marry him gladly, and will, without any fortune, if the worst comes to the worst; but there will be no worst,” she continued brightly, “for Ajax will save us both.” Here she paused, and pulled out her watch.
“I did not know it was so late,” she exclaimed. “I have an appointment with Mme. Koluchy this morning. I must ask Sir John to send me to the station at once.”
She hurried forward to speak to the old gentleman, and Dufrayer and I fell behind.
Soon afterwards we all returned to London, and on the following Monday I received a telegram from Dufrayer.
“Come to dinner—seven o’clock, important,” was his brief message.
I responded in the affirmative, and at the right hour drove off to Dufrayer’s flat in Shaftesbury Avenue, arriving punctual to the moment.
“I have asked Calthorpe to meet you,” exclaimed Dufrayer, coming forward when I appeared; “his ill-luck dogs him closely. If the horse loses he is absolutely ruined. His concealed enemy becomes more active as the crucial hour approaches. Ah, here he comes to speak for himself.”
The door was thrown open, and Calthorpe was announced. Dufrayer introduced him to me, and the next moment we went into the dining-room. I watched him with interest. He was a fair man, somewhat slight in build, with a long, thin face and a heavy moustache. He wore a worried and anxious look painful to witness; his age must have been about twenty-eight years. During dinner he looked across at me several times with an expression of the most intense curiosity, and as soon as the meal had come to an end, turned the conversation to the topic that was uppermost in all our minds.
“Dufrayer has told me all about you, Mr. Head; you are in his confidence, and therefore in mine.”
“Be assured of my keen interest,” I answered. “I know how much you have staked on the favourite. I saw the colt on Saturday. He is a magnificent creature, and I should say is safe to win, that is—” I paused, and looked full into the young man’s face. “Would it not be possible for you to hedge on the most advantageous terms?” I suggested. “I see the price tonight is five to four.”
The Big Book of Female Detectives Page 187
